Ang Himlayan |

BANKANG PAPEL "For the young boy who loved the richness of his homeland; for the young boy who never forgets. For the young boy who has open-ears heard them all: speak, for a boy could not lie."             There was a huge wealth in our village. In our wrinkled hands and ankles the labor, the fruits are in the basket ahead of us. Hand in hand, the people work together to reap as many as they could. Black seeds, young root crops, and even the little fruits scattered on the ground. People were carabaos at work in the field under the striking radiance of the sun. People kept on stretching out their bones. Everyone was in spirit. Everyone was after the earning. Yet amidst the drying sun that burned out their skin, they still inched their foot underneath the soil. It was indeed of great perseverance that the wide fields have gone into splendiferous harvest yearly—finest grains and wheat, crops and corns vegetated along the ...

                                                                     Two-sentence Stories “I was running away from a tall dark man who was also running towards me when he was able to get a firm grip of my blonde hair. I was in the obituary the next day.” “I burned the last stick of weed from my lousy pocket which I was doing from a month now. It ended my life.” “She hesitantly took the folded letter and a freshly picked dandelion on the bench she was seated in. I…gained…hope.” “What’s more painful than having someone whom you cannot kiss or embrace, tell me? I guess when I can’t be longer kissed and embraced; I can now kiss and embrace you.” ...still writing for more

Poisoned Surely mourning eyes hath seen all the tatterdemalion Of our fellowmen stood still Forgotten— O’er the frontiers of the Eastern land Bombs spluttered, rockets hissed in rebellion Echoes of the cry resonated amongst every nation Tremendous fire blazed all over their homes, Yet none hath seen; turned to ashes A snap of time in the history flashes Forth oh! Put the dry palms on one’s bleeding minds. The knowing people have touched the agonizing truth and lived Beneath the depth of the dying land: ‘tis of great courage Of great strength of timeless clan that Pearl of the Orient still stood  as the pearl. “But it is glory ever when thou art wronged For us thy sons to suffer and die” now the country’s aching heart: ‘tis a lie? We are no longer freed; liberty has been sealed From the high people who feed on its own country And fooled, and poisoned and bastardized— the innocent children of the nation.